034: Darkness Rises From the Deep
by Rhiononon
Summary: Golden Army AU. To become Ard Ri, a man needs more than a crown and an army.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Darkness Rises From the Deep  
Author: Rhion  
Rating: AO  
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue  
AN: Okay, this setting, Saorlaith, and this version of Nuada come from Juliette Louise. On a random whim one day I read her stories, Fear Me and Fear Her, and took note of the fact that they were unfinished. No matter how I refreshed the page (while knowing it was utterly illogical) no new chapters appeared, much to my sadness. This fic would not exist if it was not for her putting ideas in my head. Truly, for this to make any sense, you have to read _Fear Me_, and, you know, should _probably_ see Hellboy 2. I gained permission from the kind Juliette Louise to play in her sandbox, and this story is going to disregard the events of _Fear Her_, relying solely upon _Fear Me_, thus meaning it will diverge vastly. In the end though, I urge you to go read, and for heavens' sake, _review_, Juliette Louise, pester her until she actually you know, hops to it! Also, for those Zev fans out there, she also has two DAO stories that are also excellent, and really needs some concrit to push her along into _doing_ something with it once more. They are excellent reads, and worth the time it would take to review as well as read. But don't take my word for it, just go read it, and see for yourself.  
Also, the title comes from the lyrics of the song _Mordred's Lullaby_ by Heather Dale. Beautiful, haunting, bitter and soothing in the same breath. I figured it was quite fitting for the title. There is also a very good videothat you should watch. For anyone who _hasn't_ seen Hellboy 2, this should be enough to...pique your interest.  
For those who are curious, the lyrics can be easily found.

XXX

Saorlaith rolled over in the bed, a hand cautiously reaching out to check that she was alone. She did this each time she awoke, even when she knew the Prince was out making war upon the remains of her people. It was a habit that half unsettled, and half comforted her for some unfathomable reason. Rising carefully, her hands held out before her, Saorlaith searched by memory and feel for her small wardrobe, withdrawing a dress, which she slipped over her head and shoulders.

She could turn to the small lantern, but chose not to. It was a cautious thing she did, trying to learn to not be totally blind in the dark. The dark was where the Unseen dwelled, where Prince Nuada resided, and now Saorlaith had to live there too. There was not much choice in it, so she had to learn to make some way of her own, frightening as it was. Counting steps, lips moving as she did so, Saorlaith found her slippers, and made her way slowly towards the door.

"And where might you be going young Saorlaith?" the words came from right in front of her, just a moment before her hands reached the door, instead touching spidersilk.

Jumping, she stumbled back. "To...to see the sun."

A chilly hand snagged her elbow, drawing her in close. "And why would you want that?"

"...I...I don't know. I just..." searching desperately, Saorlaith fought to keep her fear suppressed, and the shiver of reaction to his proximity and scent. Softly she explained, "I go each day when you are not here, to see the sky from the window down the hall. No one said I could not...I...I thought that it was...allowed."

There was silence as the hand released her, and she felt the air move near her before the wash of his presence pressed to the back of her neck. The now familiar icy touch of lips and flick of tongue over the large vein there came, and the faint gush of breath exhaling. Shivering, Saorlaith swallowed, waiting for the Prince's pleasure. As fast as that he was gone, leaving her to remain near the door, hugging herself, as she blinked out at the darkness.

"I didn't say that it was forbidden, I asked why you would wish to see it," his voice close once more, from the other side of her, and this time the hand that came out to touch her arm was gloved. "Tell me this, and it will remain to you."

Swaying towards him unbidden, instinctively, Saorlaith drew herself up short at the last moment, seeking an answer that would satisfy him, when she barely understood it herself. Gesturing at the room, "I've...I've never been inside so much. I'm used to the forest and ruins. Where it is open. Not...not...enclosed."

With that, the large door swung open, the dim light of small glowing lamps bright to her eyes. In that incandescence, Nuada was revealed, swathed in head to toe black, but for a red slash about his slim waist hanging down to his knees in brilliant vermilion folds. Not daring to be caught staring, even as her gaze continued to fight her mind's demand, Saorlaith steeled herself, following a pace behind and slightly to the side of Nuada's form. He didn't speak to her, nor had she expected it, but when they passed her customary spot to view the sky, she hesitated for what must have been too long.

"You wished to the see the light, did you not? Then come along," the command terse.

Biting her lip, Saorlaith hurried her steps to catch up to him, hands clasping the skirts of the dress. Eventually he brought her to another set of doors, which were pushed open by a silent guard, sunlight flooding the hallway in response. Her breath caught as the smell of green growing things, warm sunlight and song of birds pulled her out with halting paces. Slippered feet touched paving stones along the path, and as though in a trance, Saorlaith tread softly, reverently. Closing her eyes, tipping her head back, late afternoon rays bathed her face, and she could not help the smile that formed at the light's caress.

She forgot his presence for a time as she flitted from one bush or tree to another, reaching out, touching plants and trees that she had never seen the like of. Most times he had been at the castle, he ignored her but for bedding her, the oddness of their first meeting having disappeared. So, she did, not quite the same, but had retreated, not daring to make requests, or engage in talk. It had left her lonely, then again, when he was gone, she was still lonely. Other than to keep herself ready, sleep and eat, there had been nothing to do. That was partially why she had taken to gazing out the window before the sun set, it was something to occupy her, even for a moment. Falling to kneel beside a particularly gorgeous flowering bush, with intensely colored flowers, Saorlaith's hands reached out to cup one so she could better catch the perfume of it, when gloved fingers wrapped like bands about her wrists.

Bodily she was yanked away, and she let out a brief, frightened cry, struggling.

"If you wish to play with poison and lose your life, then you most certainly may," and with that she was released.

Turning to the Prince, Saorlaith shivered under his mirthless gaze. "Poison?"

"Wolfsbane, to touch it unprotected, little human girl, is to die." Nuada gestured sharply, "Enough of this, you have seen your sunlight. Come along."

XXX

Rhiana, the old Unseen woman, entered Nuada's chambers just as Saorlaith awoke for the evening. "Dress and come with me child."

Clambering quickly from the soft, welcoming bed, Saorlaith did as the Unseen woman bid her to, as the lantern was lit without the benefit of a match. She did not question, though questions bubbled in the confines of her mind. The old Unseen woman would come time to time to tell her that she was to bathe or to go to the garden, but usually it was later in the evening, not just as she wakened. Plucking a dual layered dress of sapphire and orange, toeing her slippers on, Saorlaith combed nervous fingers through her long locks. The Unseen woman led her through winding corridors, the small glow lamps bobbing and flickering on and off as they approached and passed them. Doors swayed open, a large room, cascades of books and rolled parchments, moving floor to ceiling, the light diffuse, sepia and gold, red tinged and autumn sensation in a breath.

"I am to educate you," Rhiana turned, gesturing to a long table, implements that Saorlaith was not entirely sure of the names to neatly placed upon them.

Braving a question, Saorlaith licked her lips, "Why?"

"As a slave you need not be educated, but the Prince has ordered that you be kept busy and from underfoot," lambent gold eyes with their tightly contracted pupils stared at her as her melodic voice filled the space between them. "He left it to my discretion what you would do. I have chosen that you learn these things, so that you know your place, your true place, in history, child. And why you will serve."

Sitting on the chair she was directed to, the young woman felt her brow beetle in confusion. "Man overstepped their bounds, and Prince Nuada reclaimed, _is_ reclaiming, the world from man. He will wipe us all out, grind us to nothing, just as we had done to you."

Rhiana smiled a sad smile, "Humans were born with a hole in their heart, their soul. Widened by greed, yes. And to restore the balance, our Prince has embraced the imbalance to tip the scales in the other direction." She opened a large tome, weathered by age, dog-eared and smelling of leather and dust. "Listen then, and I will tell you of the _Aos Si_..."

...

Once the _Aos Si_ travelled the greening hills and tall forests, ghosts of the night, neither good, nor bad. These are human distinctions, disregarding the balance of all. The humans separated us into two courts, though there had been none between us, the Unseelie and the Seelie, for some of our number viewed mankind with curiosity, others as upstarts. Sometimes the same Aos Si would see the same human one way or another, depending on actions and the core of their heart. Mischief makers the Aos Si were not, for we had given land to share with humans, just as the rest of us lived in a delicately dancing balance. War was made time to time, but when life stretches for ages, war becomes naught much more than a game to break the monotony.

In the end it was greedy kings of kingdoms poor in things that were not physical wealth, turned their eyes to the rest of Eire, and then the world. The blood of short-lived, fast-breeding man, sowed the green fields, death making no distinction between them, and the Aos Si who could do no less than defend their lands. Ogres, goblins, Sidhe, trolls, and all folk from the hills - above and below - they fell in numbers comparable to the humans. But for each of the Aos Si dead, meant ten or more human lifetimes lost. And for every Aos Si, many more than ten humans fell.

There was no balancing of the forces, for while many humans died, they still had many more to replace what was lost. In desperation, King Balor, under advisement from Prince Nuada, accepted the offer of the master smith. Seventy by seventy, golden as the spilled blood of any of the courts of Summer, indestructible golems were crafted. The terrible blood that spilled was the result of pure massacre. King Balor looked upon the field, and how the Army crushed all on the meadow, without thought, all at his direction. No mercy was granted to a single soul, and not a single survivor quit the field on the side of man's kind.

King Balor felt shame, horror, at what had happened under his orders. Creation of monsters who knew no emotion, no ability to hold honor in their breasts... They were the worst of the Aos Si, having no mind, no heart, no soul. No matter that man was created with a hole in their own heart, the golden, clockwork army was by far, far more incomplete...

...

Saorlaith shivered, wrapping her arms about herself. "Is that why the Golden Host is used so rarely?"

Rhiana eyed her speculatively. "In some regards, yes, that is why."

"But not the only reason?" leaping to the next question without permission, but sensing the Unseen woman was waiting for her to do so.

Umber, full lips curved with approval. "The _slaugh sidhe_ is made up of the young, who do not remember the times before. They are tales from the old, and books, nothing more. Being young, they hold rage to their breasts, only vaguely understanding what birthright was lost to them. Their anger must be vented, directed, or it would tear us apart."

Pondering that for a moment, Saorlaith stroked the large tabletop. Sworls in the grain almost formed discernible shapes and she wondered what Nuada would do once humans had all been banished from the lands of the living. Would the Unseen's terrible anger be through? Or would they turn into the very things they sought to rid the world of?

XXX

A flurry of activity, and the Prince's chamber doors were shoved wide, banging with haste, waking Saorlaith. Startled, she sat bolt upright in the bed, and frenzied work began as Rhiana and two Unseen she did not know lay Nuada on the canopied bed, shoving her aside. Golden blood was tinted black - iron poisoning. Scrambling away fully, she stared until the work was done. Like a frozen rabbit Saorlaith held a fist to her mouth, holding in the cry of distress. Someone like Prince Nuada, Death's avatar, should not be felled by such small human means.

Later, Rhiana showed her what to watch for and how to administer small amounts of liquid to him. Charged with his care, Saorlaith saw the monster brought down to a mortal level for the first time. It was a man before her, not the scourge of humankind. Attending to him like a child, she insisted on bathing him herself, called for new bedding when that was necessary, but mostly, Saorlaith was left to be his caretaker without interference, which she found was just how she wanted it.

Because of how his wounds were placed, and the need to allow them to drain properly, Nuada was kept on his side for part of the day to allow the area to heal as it needed. To ensure that to the best of her abilities, Saorlaith would sleep face to face with him, one arm curled under his head and shoulders, and her other slung around his hips, their bodies pressed tightly together. At times he would shift, make a pained noise or murmur something in the Unseen language, waking her. The first few times that happened, she feared for him, ready to call the physician or Rhiana. Soon she realized it was nothing more than dreams, and she was able to soothe him to rest quickly with a few soft hums accompanied by a stroke or kiss to his temple or face.

Her sleep was disturbed by Nuada moving, shifting away, and Saorlaith sleepily cupped the back of his head, fingers combing through his silken silver and gold locks. "Shhh..." There was more moving, and she woke up further, this time kissing his black lips, and trailing a hand over his face down to his shoulder, nuzzling at him as she did so. "Shhh...rest Nuada...rest..."

"I am no child to be coddled. You are not some nurse with a fussy babe in hand," the voice snapped and crackled at her.

Saorlaith's eyes flew open to see nothing but darkness. "You're awake!"

She was inordinately relieved, but his tone had been typically hard, reminding her what place she had with him. A bedmate and that was all. But, she was also the person who saw to his needs. Saorlaith clung to that duty tenaciously. Was it not Rhiana who said she would learn her place? Being a consort could mean more than simply spread legs.

"Your ability to state the obvious is astounding," dry wind humor, crisp like autumn chill.

Daring to ignore his amused irritation, Saorlaith sat up carefully. "Are you in pain? The physician left a potion to give you in water every few hours. Do you want it? Or are you thirsty? Is there anything you need me to get?" Asking a quick succession of questions, as her hands reached out for the side table. "I have to turn on the lantern to be sure of the dosage..." she warned as she slipped from the bed.

Light flared, and there was a displeased grunt from the bed. Ignoring it for the moment in favor of measuring out twelve drops from the vial she had been given, then pouring a little water into the cup, she turned to him, holding the bone vessel in one hand. His expression was hard, vaguely squinting against the brightness, but she found that she held no fear of him in that moment. It had been several days since she looked at him and felt anything like that. Nuada was a man, impressive, imposing and powerful, but still just that, even whilst awake finally. A man.

"Cease your pestering," a bandaged hand pushed aside the cup she carried to him. "I am a man grown, and can do for myself."

"You are a man wounded," she pointed out. Watching as he began to roll over and sit up, grimacing in obvious discomfort, Saorlaith reached out, pushing on his shoulder with one hand. "Rhiana and your physician were adamant that you're not supposed to get up."

She received a sharp look for her trouble, the muscles jumping in his jaw. "I am a man who does not enjoy lying in his own waste. Now let me up, or if you feel that you must, then assist me."

Swallowing the dual reflexes that said shrink away or return the expression in kind as she would to a human, Saorlaith set aside the cup for later. She moved to his side of the bed, pulling the coverlet back, crawling half onto the mattress and slid her arms beneath his shoulders. When she felt the weight of the elf's arm wrap around her back, she took a bracing breath filling her head with his scent, and pulled him upright. It was much easier to maneuver him with his help than when she had to tend to his body on her own. With a small grunt of effort she got him settled, and provided support as he did the rest himself, while she maintained alert wariness in case his strength failed him.

Saorlaith had wanted to guide him back to bed, but he had bodily turned her towards the fireplace, leaning against her for balance. She had no choice but to do as he silently bid her. Finding a pair of loose pants and a tunic, she dressed him, and once she was done with that task she retrieved the cup, pressing it to him quietly.

Kneeling at his feet, Saorlaith touched his knee. "Should I call for some food?"

The Prince made a face at the cup, as though it was the source of his displeasure rather than herself, and downed its contents. "If you must."

Relieved, Saorlaith slipped from the room long enough to whisper quietly to the guard, also requesting that word be sent to Rhiana and the physician. Watching the guard swiftly leave down the hall, she pressed a hand over her breast, closing her eyes and praying for strength. Reminding herself firmly that she had to tread carefully, but still actually _walk_ that path, she slipped back into the room. Puttering about, she brushed her long black hair once she was assured that Nuada would not do himself further injury, and dressed herself properly, then she doused the lantern's light so as to not plague his eyes.

Rhiana entered, the only warning Saorlaith had was a irritated snort from Nuada, and the lantern she had so purposefully snuffed, flared wildly, along with the hearth. Fire bloomed, and for the first time, Nuada's rooms were fully revealed. Breath caught in her throat - the tapestries she had been unable to see were were heartbreaking in their perfection. A man with a crown of horns spiralling and twisting from a mane of floor length silver-white hair, his arms open, with two small children on either side. Each of the children was identical to the other, yet she could tell that one was Nuada. Their expressions were gentle and mournful, but Nuada's held a hint of seriousness, promises of the man he would one day become.

But it was the kindness and gentleness in the other's eyes, somehow captured by the artist that moved Saorlaith, made her own ache to leak tears, when compared to Nuada's already stern countenance. His expression when placed beside the other's showed how joy had fled him, leaving him bereft of something infinitely precious. To save her heart, her mind and sanity, she had to look away, to focus upon Rhiana who was surveying Nuada with businesslike efficiency.

"You let him out of the bed?" the words, directed in mans' tongue could only be meant for her.

Staring in shock at the Unseen woman, Saorlaith tried to not think about what Nuada's reaction might be to the implication that she had any say in what he could and could not do.

There was a dark glower aimed at Rhiana, ignoring Saorlaith. "I need no nursemaiding."

"I remember when there was far more to it than simply checking you over for wounds and keeping you abed," the reply was dry. "No doubt she had to deal with much the same my Liege. And you are much larger now, than you were then."

The expression he turned on Rhiana was foreboding, and accompanied by a faint growl. "Rhiana, remember your place."

"I remember it well," she said, bowing, and Saorlaith sought to make herself small, fearing for the Unseen woman. "I remember it at the side of your cradle." Rhiana rose gracefully, the only sound in the room coming from the crackle of the fireplace. "Your Highness, is there anything else you require of me now?"

XXX

There was a deep inhale, lips coasted over the back of her neck, and down to a shoulder. The chill of it, and Nuada's shifting in the bed pulled her to full wakefulness. For many days he had kept her shoved to the other side of it, away from him, and any overly familiar touches she might give him as she had when he first awoke from his healing slumber. A cool hand came around her front to cup her breast, the customary flick of tongue tasting her skin, sent shivers not born of fear or cold, through her body.

"Hmm," the low sound thrummed beside her ear, and Saorlaith shuddered, rolling over to face him, a hand going directly to touch lean, muscular hip. "Much better..."

She was about to ask him what was better, but got distracted as cool lips, and a colder tongue touched her, slipping into her mouth. Moaning, Saorlaith arched closer, the slickness of his tongue sliding over hers eliciting a hungry whimper from her, and a pleased groan from him. She knew what would come next, and tried to not think sadly - for the moment she could think - of the first time. Readying herself for him, Saorlaith squirmed the shoulders of her nightgown down, seeking to free herself of the silk.

A deep chuckle rasped, "So eager. Has it been too long for you already?"

There was no chance to answer, his mouth was moving down to her bared chest already, robbing her voice of words. It tickled, that sensation, but instead of giggles, the caress of tongue, lips, mouth, and face garnered sighs and quiet cries. Surrounded by the scent of deep, autumn wind, strange spices, and the association of safety and security swamping her. Fingers untied loose knots, palms brushed the fabric aside, coasting over her skin, pushing her to lay back, for her legs to part. It wasn't until the tip of his nose was near her mound that there was a pause, another, deep, hearty indrawn breath, followed by a deeper, nearly silent groan, that she had some idea that this time would be different from what she had experienced so far. Unable to stop the yelp when the chilly wet muscle of his tongue split her, Saorlaith jerked away.

Another low laugh, somewhat muffled, "Oh, don't be shy."

No further warning was given, and she found a leg pressed up, a hand behind her knee, opening her wide. Gasping when his mouth came down on her once more Soarlaith's hands found their way to his hair, grasping. Slickness moved over her, dipping inside to taste, and she shuddered, unused to the sensation, but it felt wonderful, if strange. The kiss lasted a long time, and when his tongue swirled over the bundle of nerves at her apex, she whimpered, begging for something she had no name for, wishing more than anything that she could see if the flush was spreading over him. A pulsing suckle at the pearl nestled there, a core of sensation she had only been vaguely aware of, left her sobbing for breath as she rocked against his mouth, unable to keep still. Coiling warmth settled low in her belly, spreading outwards, taking hold of her until she found herself letting go, even without his urging voice in her ear this time.

Brought back to reality by a long boned hand skimming across her outer thigh, Saorlaith scooted to sit up, dragging her fingernails over his scalp, then cupping his cheeks. They were warmer, and the breath that puffed against the inside of her wrist was coming quicker. His pleased hum when she leaned down to kiss him was encouraging, and Saorlaith dared to meet him partway as he sat up. Arms tight with ropey muscles wrapped about her waist, pulling her to him, and she went willingly, unable to contain a gasp as she was drawn into his lap and sheathing Nuada's manhood in a single stroke. Shaking, she clung to him, her face in his warming throat, and she could feel the way his breath hitched. Strong hands guided her hips, even as his own rocked up, making her cry out as she was filled. Everything built - the pleasure, the intensity, the heat, their speed. Murmured words whose meaning was just outside of her grasp were pressed into the column of her neck and she sobbed, gasping for breath that she could not quite catch.

Soft lips pressed to her mouth, opening and taste other than what she knew entered, but it was only different, nothing more. Her hands scrambled with minds of their own to his shoulders, over his back, encountering bandages but skipping over them. She thought she could take no more, thought she would die, or her heart would simply explode in her breast.

"Yes," Nuada's smooth voice was hoarse, the word drawn out, just before he spoke the magic phrase into her ear. "Let go..."

Shuddering, Saorlaith did, bliss buffeting her like a gale wind. Once more she was transported to a vision of green, rolling hills, lush and vibrant in a shade of emerald that she could barely conceive. Even with the fires in the distance, and the haunting amber eyes flashing in the sky, it was perfection. She didn't know why whenever he told her to 'let go' that she was transported to this vision, or even where such beauty could ever reside in the world. Wind hewn rocks tumbled and dotted the hills, the sky a pristine blue her eyes had never beheld. Its purity brought tears to her eyes, so that when she came back to herself, in a comfortable bed, but a dark room, she nearly did cry out at the loss.

Seeking distraction, Saorlaith ran a light hand over the bandages on Nuada's chest. "Did any come loose?"

"Saorlaith," coming from darkness, the side of his jaw moving against her forehead as he spoke, "you should not worry over things that do not concern you."

Frowning, though she couldn't see him, she knew he could see _her_, "Then what does concern me if not you? My well-being is directly tied to yours. If something happens to you, then what happens to me?"

"Who told you that? Rhiana?" A mirthless laugh, the Prince returned and the man who had taken her to bed earlier fled, though they were one and the same and there was no distinction between the two. "What other things has she told you, little human girl?"

Drawing away from him, Saorlaith slipped from the canopied bed. If he wanted to mock her, then he could, and surely would. If he wanted to bed her until there was no strength left in either of their bodies, there was no way to deny him, or any real desire to. But since he didn't stop her egress, she found her blind way to a fresh nightdress and robe, and tried not to stumble towards the couches. However, unless he made her sit still for it, she didn't have to _pay attention_ to his mocking.

XXX

She was struggling over the words on the page, but Rhiana was sitting beside her, patiently waiting for her to cave and ask for help. "The...dog...sits by...by the...by the _puh-puh-pond_."

"Very good," gently serene the Unseen woman's voice slid over her. "Now, can you name the letters as I point to them?"

Saorlaith nodded, and did her best.

When she got none wrong, Rhiana's mouth curled into a small smile, "You are doing very well Saorlaith. Your reading is coming along nicely." The Unseen rose gracefully, a study of feminine power and beauty as she passed a hand over the shelves. "What would you like me to tell you about today for a job well done?"

Watching as white fingers skimmed over the spines of many volumes, Saorlaith's mind flickered back to the visions she had when with Nuada. "Tell me of green hills, please?"

The old woman went still, her voice queer. "Green hills? Now why would you want to hear of that?"

Uncomfortable, Saorlaith ducked her head. "I...I dream of them sometimes."

"And what is it you see? Tell me child, tell me what you see," Rhiana turned towards her, silent footsteps bringing her to kneel at Saorlaith's side.

Shocked, she slid from her own chair, unwilling to remain over Rhiana at all. "Please, don't do that..."

"Child, _tell me what you see_," the air shimmered, and she found herself drawn inexorably into Rhiana's dark gold eyes, unable to pull away.

With halting words she described it, hands curving to indicate the shape of hills. "Huge mounds, greener than anything I've seen before. Rolling away endlessly. Sometimes I see flowers sprinkled over them in a cloak of rainbows. Others there are large, almond shaped eyes, amber and shot through with black, sorrowful. In the distance the sky's lit up with red, but above me is a blue I can't...I can't describe. Giant stone sometimes breaks up from the fields...Wind blows like...like a stormwind smells. Like, like it has water in it. But salty."

And then, just like that, she was released.

Rhiana's hand came out, slipping through Saorlaith's hair, "I knew your namesake, Saorlaith. A beautiful woman she was. A princess of Ulster, and gave blood to the finest _ard ri_ line Eire ever knew."

Lids fluttered as she sank into the Unseen's hypnotic cadence. "...Ulster...?"

"A high king, _ard ri_, the ones who ruled Eire's green fields, long a'fore they were sown with too much blood to remain the purest verdant," breezing soft, weaving words, and Saorlaith's long sheaf of hair. "Great heroes and heroines, daring and deceit. Love and loss, two sides of each coin. Who was the villain, who was the victor - it comes down to those who wrote history. And warped it..."

"Please..." mumbling as her long hair was brushed, parted by fingers that twisted and twined through the locks, piling them then releasing the hair over and over again.

"A good king comes from not just a good man, but a good mother," the voice came from all around Saorlaith, hinting at things just out of reach. "And man must have a good wife to gentle his bestial nature so that he may become a good man."

Drowsily, Saorlaith swayed to the rhythm of Rhiana pulling her along, knowing that Unseen magic was doing something to her, but she didn't know what. "I...don't...understand..."

"You need not understand, to serve. For a seed to take root, for the hills to turn green again, they must be fed by not just blood," cool, umber lips whispered into her ear. "You wish for green fields to come once more. Then become a woman of not just great beauty, but of grace and wisdom."

In that moment, that was everything Saorlaith had ever dreamed or desired to be. Pleading, "How...?"

"_Learn_, child, learn..."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Darkness Rises From the Deep 02  
Author: Rhion  
Rating: M - Violence  
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue  
AN: Okay, this setting, Saorlaith, and this version of Nuada come from Juliette Louise. They can be found here: Fear Me and Fear Her. This fic would not exist if it was not for her putting ideas in my head. I gained permission from the kind Juliette Louise to play in her sandbox, and this story is going to disregard the events of _Fear Her_, relying solely upon _Fear Me_, thus meaning it will diverge vastly. In the end though, I urge you to go read, and for heavens' sake, _review_, Juliette Louise, pester her until she actually you know, hops to it! And yes, she's posted a new chapter to Thick As Thieves.  
Some continuity notes. For those who know me well, they know what an anal retentive bastard/bitch I can be about things pertaining to physical/magical/'historical' mechanics. (Do _not_ get me started on Balor being Nuada and Nuala's father, and him having a silver/mechanical arm. For fuck's sake, Nuada is Nuada Airgetlám = Silverfist/arm dammit!) But yes, back to mechanics. I have now seen a very gloriously horrendously accurate and detailed copy of Hellboy II. Nuada? He's not white. He's _speckled_. Like an egg, while Nuala's smooth-toned. And also - yes, Luke Goss? He's hairy. We're talkin' hair on the tops of his hands, and fur on the forearms, and I'm fairly sure he manscapes that chest so that there's only a bit of hair rather than a pelt. Now, in most copies of the movie (big screen, DVD, whatever) it always looked as though it'd been smoothed down. Well, thank you ever so fucking much BlueRay for showing me that 1 - Nuada's got a yellow complexion like sulfur-y granite and marble had a baby in secret that was then sprayed down with moist potting soil, 2 - that his irises are _red shot_ not _black shot_ and also the 'whites' are red too!, 3 - that he's_hairy_, and no, I don't mean some 'blond/white' fuzz - it's nearly brown (much like his natural and un-spray-painted body hair! T_T This is my annoyed unimpressed face by the way. Do you understand that now I have to go and change things? Yes. I do. Plus there's the mechanics instilled that I have to stick to for JL's stuff - which is fine by me, except where it clashes with movie stuff in terms of body temp. As an example, Nuada's able to pick up the red-hot metal cylinder. And if he was cold, the cylinder would've steamed out the yin-yang. Well it doesn't. In fact, he doesn't react, and the metal doesn't react, or dim. So he can't be cold. He'd have to be salamander skinned or completely temp neutral. But, whatever. The temp thing I've got a use for, so well, whatever, fuck it. But Briala and Janni know my pain of my brain doing all sorts of mental contortions to find logic for these things. :grumblesnazzlefrass:  
Also, this chapter we finally see some of Saorlaith getting a bit of spine, and Nuada not being a _total_ stern buttmunch. I mean, there's got to be some give on each side. Also, I'd say early spring is when Saorlaith was taken, and now it's midsummer possibly, I've not figured out the exact month-to-month basis yet. However, Nuada's got a whole planet to patrol, and yes, they have magical means (which would make sense, as helloooo how did Nuada and Nuala wind up in Ireland from New York otherwise?) of getting place to place, but he would have to patrol in person frequently whenever the smaller bands found evidence of larger quantities of humans to deal with. So, there's plenty of stretches of time when he's gone for weeks, rather than just days, sometimes even a month.

XXX  
Chapter Two  
XXX

Reading outside by the light of several glowing globes, Saorlaith quietly enjoyed the night scents, sounds and visions. She wasn't entirely sure how, but her time under Rhiana's tutelage had progressed and widened her knowledge of the world - Seen and Unseen - by leaps and bounds. Sometimes it was as though she were clay upon a turning wheel, some potter's hand coaxing her into a shape not originally her own. At least, not entirely her own. Or perhaps she was the potter, shaping her own clay while under someone else's guidance rather than control.

The Golden Army was in the field, and Nuada with it. She tried not to worry even if for some inexplicable reason she did, so found herself frequently pacing gardens or the battlements of the castle. It was made of wood and stone, seemingly sprouting up from the very earth itself, to form huge walls, with barely any space between the stones for mortar. Like everything the Unseen reshaped into their image during the reclamation of the world from humans, the castle was a model of efficiency _and_ natural beauty. Saorlaith had very little more than a few descriptions of the world of man to go by, so could only imagine monolithic structures of metal and glass as broken shards of pain and ugliness.

Laying a hand on the stone bench she sat upon, she frowned out into the distance, the book now sitting in her lap. It did no good, the examination of her surroundings, something in her pulse tripped with fear for the avenger of the hidden and magical creatures whenever he was gone. Saorlaith swallowed the sour taste that flooded her mouth at the memory of golden blood darkening to black. The bullets that the physician Cliareach had dug free of Nuada's muscles were foul, pitted things. And she kept them close, in a small silken pouch that was tucked behind the belt that bound her dress to her waist. It was a reminder that even a man of his ilk could be laid low by something small and that just as Nuada could fall, so too would she. Her will to survive had wakened, and yet she did not directly fear for herself, but more for the fact that the world would be a poor place indeed without the Unseen for reasons she didn't entirely understand.

Not that she wanted Nuada and the Unseen's rage to wipe her own kind from the world either. Such a holocaust seemed wrong as well. Yet, what could she do about it? Saorlaith was aware that all she was, was a woman who was not intended to be much more than a plaything for the elven Prince's amusement. Even if Nuada never seemed much amused by her. At times, it was more like he was...confused...by her.

Touching the faint shape of the pouch, Saorlaith forced her frown to still, reminding herself that there were things she could do. No matter how small, she had some effect. With her own hands she had bathed him, had changed bandages, fed and clothed him. The sweat of his brow bought her the safety, comfort and warmth of his bed, the security of the interwoven threads of scent and that pulling thing that whispered that she belonged to something. Not as a possession, but that she filled a space, no matter how small and insignificant. Shuddering at that rush of certainty, she turned away from staring out into the forest, returning to her reading.

Two men came - a soldier and what she assumed was the captain of the guard, though she did not recognize him, interrupting her reading, surprising her as they put fist to chest as they bowed. It was an odd thing, as the servants and guards paid her little to no mind except when absolutely necessary. And _never_ had any of them bowed, unless she was making a request upon Nuada's behalf. To them she was as insignificant as they were silently distant to her.

Cocking her head, Saorlaith stared at the impressively armoured guard a moment, unsure of what it was he wanted. "Yes?"

"This scout brings news from the battlefield, my lady." Silver armor, but mostly golden hair was braided away from his face, his helmet tucked under one arm, his eyes still locked on the ground at her feet.

"News? What sort of news? Is the Prince hurt?" straightening, Saorlaith set her book aside completely, hands clasped in her lap, trying not to reveal her alarm, as her gaze swung quickly to the other Unseen in expectation.

And still he remained bowed as he spoke, "Scouts from the field spied a large group of humans breaking off from the main battle." When she was unable to formulate a response, the soldier elaborated, "They aim towards the castle, my lady."

Drawing in a shuddering breath, she stood slowly from the bench, unsure of why they were even telling _her_these things. "Is there some way to...repel them?"

The one in particularly elaborate guard's garb glanced up at her, "M'lady, we have some number of fighters here. But not many. May I make a suggestion?"

Waving a hand at them both, "Please, I know little of these...matters. Suggestions would be more than welcome, for I know nothing of warfare. I would defer to your experience and knowledge in this, as I've no knowledge of why you might come to me for those weighty matters." Noting how they continued to even _still_remain bowed, "Please, will you rise?"

The older elf shared a quick glance with the soldier, before looking up at her. "My lady," the guard captain straightened instead of answering her implied question, "the castle is defensible. And we will defend it, but our numbers will not last if stretched thin on the outermost walls. Withdrawing to the interior fort will work best."

"Then that is what we will have to do," Saorlaith scooped up the precious and rare book in one hand, and stepped quickly to keep pace with the captain. A thought occurred, no less alarming than if something had happened to Nuada. "What of women and children? Are they all within an area that we can call them to safety?"

This time the scout spoke, "Most, yes. Those that are not, my lady, are doubtless scattering in other directions."

Saorlaith was not quite ushered, but almost, into a large room she had never been in, with a wooden throne, and a dais before it.

The guard captain turned to the scout. "Oisin, you will personally protect the Prince's lady. Take her to the interior."

"Aye," the young scout snapped off a short, smart bow.

"My lady, I must see to the defenses now, by your leave," and she received a much deeper, but no less perfectly executed bow.

"Yes, thank you, please, do," murmuring as she strove to contain any shivering, half in shock and entirely overwhelmed but she did her best to remain outwardly calm at least a little bit.

With that, the captain was gone.

XXX

Oisin's shadowed eyes and black lips were familiar, the deep saffron yellow of black-shot irises surrounded by dark red, but his features were not. There were no scars, no gray and brown speckled weathering, just a perfectly smooth, expressionless white face without even the evidence of shaving. He was so young that there was not even a wisp of silver in his hair, and while he was muscularly lean, it didn't have that tautness that bespoke years of hardened fighting.

And he was taking her to a place she didn't know.

Tucking away her discomfort and nervousness, Saorlaith gathered her nerve. "Was Rhiana informed of the situation?"

Oisin cast her a quick glance, "No, my lady. Captain Lorcan said she could not be found."

"Oh," absorbing that information slowly. "I hope she will be safe."

The young scout's second glance was longer and startled. "I'm sure she will be. She is very wise and would not easily succumb to human scum." It was then that he flushed, and it was odd indeed to see an unaroused Unseen man with color in his cheeks. "No disrespect, my lady."

Releasing a soft, surprised laugh - more at his obvious distressed embarrassment than humor at his statement, "I'm sure that's all we are to you. Peace - I think I understand what you meant."

Suddenly they were outdoors, and she realized that there were _two_ castles, not one. A flat garden spanned between the two, flower and vegetable beds in neat rows that did not rise past her ankles, cut through with paths leading to the smaller, interior fort. Beside her, Oisin tensed, and she couldn't see why, only noticed how he moved to walk ahead slightly, a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Then she heard it.

The sharp pop-pop of a gun. A loud cry. Pained, frightened. What was more, she then heard the squall of a child, followed by a particularly ugly laugh. Even though Oisin reached out to snag her arm, Saorlaith found her feet taking her rapidly in the direction of the shots. Gathering her skirts up in one hand as she dropped the book, years of running and hiding came to her in a moment, and she moved swiftly as though it were her own life threatened.

"Hey - it's one of their women!" gruff, harsh and frightening.

Veritably flying past them, she saw the twisted shape of a fallen body - a goblin. Hideous as they were, Saorlaith found herself not repulsed but sad. But it was the small child, crying and keening with fear by the body of what she could only assume was the child's parent, pushing at the never to rise again corpse, that nearly moved her to tears. Scooping the child up, she turned, holding the little one pressed close to her and backed away from the human men who were pointing at her, elbowing at each other as they laughed.

"She's a tasty one, ain't she?" accompanied by a guffaw, a ragged, bearded human approached, hitching at his pants. "Got magic on you girl, make you hot, huh? Well, I got somethin' to make you hot..."

Saorlaith shuddered, her skin crawling, "Get away. Go. Leave. Never come back." They were still of her race, she felt she had to do that much. That and she didn't know how she would fend them off by herself. "You don't belong here. You'll be killed."

More laughter, disgusting, angry. Racial hatred burned in them, and while she knew, understood intimately that they were fighting for species survival in that place, she hated them. Despised them. Wanted them dead for what they threatened to do, and what they had done already.

The one farthest from her opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was blood. Flinching, Saorlaith cupped the child's head, tucking it into her neck so it would not see the butchery that happened nearly so fast she couldn't follow it. Oisin's blade wrenched from the second, and dove straight into the third, the whirling of the silver blade flinging and shedding blood as it spun in his hand, and the meaty thwack of bodies collapsing to the ground was sickening.

The elven scout turned to her, holding out a hand, "Lady, we must be away! They have entered the grounds somehow, it is not safe here!"

Barely noticing the blood on his hand, she took it, allowing him to tug her along through the halls. "How could they have gotten in?"

Osin shook his head once, "There are old tunnels made by man, called sewers. But they're guarded by the goblin clans..."

"Not anymore," she whispered, knowing it was likely that if the humans had entered the grounds from such a route that any resistance would have been removed first and foremost. In her arms the child was mewling to itself quietly, and Saorlaith squeezed him or her - she didn't know which - closer, "Shh. I'll protect you small one."

A string of words in the Unseen language too fast for her to even attempt to follow burst from Oisin as they entered the interior fort. Blood - gold and red - was on the floor. And bodies. Several humans, and the shattered remnants of an Unseen. The scout dropped her hand, bending to pick up a second sword, and Saorlaith grabbed a clunky firearm, but its handle was sticky with blood, the sensation making her nauseous. Even so, she took it as she swallowed her rising gorge.

Oisin was scanning and listening his head swinging this way and that, his hair coming unbound from the braids that held it back, his helmet long discarded. He turned to the large doors they had entered through. "I must bar these. Perhaps buy some time."

"But how did they get _in_?" Saorlaith helped him as she could, lending what strength she could without setting the small one down. "Tunnels, I know, that's what you said. But where are they? Barring these doors only keeps them from one way of getting in."

Oisin grunted as he slammed the large beam that was meant to act as a lock into position. "There are holes and ladders that lead down. Stairs and bolt-holes."

"Shouldn't we bar those too?" following, the child in one arm, the gun in the other hand.

There was some hesitation, and his black lips pulled tight as he pursed them, digging gouges around his mouth. "There would be fighting, my lady. It would be unwise to take you there. A scout and a woman with a child in her arms will do nothing but die."

"But if we do nothing, then it won't matter!" Saorlaith glanced around them, indicating the bodies at their feet. "We...we could throw exploding cocktails, anyone in the room would flee. And then we could block the area off. No more invaders will get in from any place we seal off. Isn't it better to take that chance than to allow _more_ to come?"

She watched as he took a moment, and he looked very young as he began to nod slowly. "It's...true, my lady. But I don't have the power to make things...explode. I am...young. I can light a wick, or make myself blend in. But that is all."

"You can make a small flame? You would be able to light a rag on fire then?" hope soared at that admission. "Where can we find bottles - bottles of alcohol? And rags? I know how to make exploding cocktails, we used to throw them to blind your kind so we could flee."

"The kitchens," his yellow eyes widened. "And we can gather any others we come across!"

Once more Oisin took the lead, but his steps had turn cautious. Several times he gestured for her to hide while he went around a corner and disappeared for short minutes that lasted lifetimes, only to return, with more fresh splatters of blood on his armor and skin, until Saorlaith no longer paid it any mind. Why bother? It served no purpose to stare and wonder if there was more than there had been earlier. The entire time she held the little goblin to her, whispering or humming to it softly as to any other type of babe. The mottled brown and green skin ceased being odd, and became simply the flesh the wispy haired body had. And the sharp and crooked teeth, nothing more than the toothiness of any child. She did try to smile at it from time to time when she caught the child staring up at her with cross shaped pupils with orange irises, but that only garnered a tiny mewl and the face tucking in once more to her shoulder. Finally they reached the kitchens. Human women were huddled quietly in corners, most dressed simply but still finely.

They shuddered at the sight of Oisin, flinching away from his bloodied form, but Saorlaith stepped around him. "The castle is under attack, it must be defended."

Nervous glances met her gaze, and one spoke up. "We're slaves. You'd have us fight on _their_ side?"

"Have you gone hungry?" Looking at each of them, she tried to appeal to her fellow human women. "Have you been horribly raped by these men? Have you been frozen cold whenever you seek sleep? Have you baked in the heat, praying for a breeze as you feel you'll die from the stifling air? Do you fear that blades will come and destroy your life? Or have you been fed, clothed, housed, and protected?" Saorlaith saw their fear, and tried to address it. "Yes, you work, you earn your keep - don't you? And we're slaves, I know. But when have they harmed us? I've dealt with worse at the hands of our own men. Beatings, starving, and the constant threat of rape. I would rather gain something for what is taken, than be given nothing. Wouldn't you?"

"They will do nothing, they are too afraid," Oisin's voice was low, barely carrying. "We'd best see to what we can do without them."

Sighing, Saorlaith gave up, turning to rummage one-handed for a basket, as Oisin gathered up bottles of the strong Unseen wine and spirits. First one woman, then another, and then another came to help, silent and nervous, but they all knew how to make the blinding cocktails. It was simple survival tactics - it was hard to kill an Unseen without preparation and proper arms, but temporarily blinding them so as to get free? Simple, very simple. All told, out of the twenty women, only six aided them, the rest burrowed deeper in their hiding spots. She hoped for their sakes that none of their own, human kind found them.

XXX

Grunts, growls and near-howls came from a long corridor after she and the others had closed every entrance to the sewers and outside they could easily reach. Oisin had said it lead to some of the innermost 'safe' rooms. The corridors created bottlenecks he said, defensible positions that could be held by only a few against a much greater number. The baskets of explosive cocktails were nearly exhausted, and Saorlaith bit her lip as Oisin gestured for her and the other women to press back, close to the walls.

"Wait until I am in position here, and give me one of those cocktails, I will create a diversion, and attempt to draw them away," his head dipped down as he relayed his plan. "Then you will go to the interior, any fighters there should know you for who you are. If not, declare yourself."

Before she could stop him, Oisin was gone. Behind her the women shuddered, she could feel it like a ripple in her own flesh. Without the scout, they had no weapons beyond her gun, and a few of the bottles. But that was a mere handful of nearly useless items. There came the expected explosion and flash of light, and Saorlaith gripped the goblin child to her even tighter. Even though the little one had stopped flinching or crying out when one of the flaming glass bottles burst, spreading flame before it quickly burned itself out, she still hugged him close. There was a shout, and what was barely recognizable as Oisin's voice taunting came. Peeking around the corner, Saorlaith saw a handful of humans whirl and chase after the soldier as he drew attention away. Reaching back, she took one woman's hand, and pulled her to follow.

They raced to the hall that would lead them to the inner rooms, and protection. A blood coated Unseen guard, raised his sword as they approached, then drove past their little line, shoving them behind him. He called out in the Unseen's sibilant language, and another pair of guards came, herding Saorlaith and the six women farther in as they protected the retreat.

Upon entering the vestibule, what greeted Saorlaith was a scene of horror. Golden blood was everywhere, and ichor from a handful of trolls and goblins. Some shattered remnants of what had once been Unseen, but mostly men, and silently frightened women and a frighteningly few amount of children, filled the room. A beleaguered Lorcan was directing the Unseen to switch out in short, five to ten minute intervals to keep the bottleneck of corridors that lead to the intersection defended. His helmet was battered, and she noted how half of his armor had been removed, thick rags binding wounds.

Waiting until he had a moment to pause, Saorlaith moved to stand before him. "Captain -"

"Thank the gods, you got here safely. " His gaze skipped beyond her and around the room, alighting on the human women behind her and the goblin child in her arms. "Where is Oisin?"

"He drew away the humans in the hall so that we could get here," Saorlaith explained. "We closed off all the tunnel entrances we could find."

Lorcan's expression sharpened, "That was quick thinking you both did, my lady. Perhaps that will be enough to keep us from being purely overwhelmed, and give us time until His Highness arrives."

XXX

Her arms and the front of her dress were drenched. Stiff and sticky, the impromptu clinic in the vestibule was where all Unseen were brought from the battle. Nuada had come, a party of a mere forty warriors had struck like avenging spirits at the upstart trespass of humans in the sanctum of the Unseen's castle. Someone had found Oisin and brought him to the vestibule cum clinic, and Saorlaith was busily mopping blood from his torso so that Cliareach could continue laying neat stitches over the gaping wounds there. She was inordinately relieved that the young scout would survive - else he would already be broken remains.

"Lady Saorlaith," a shaking hand grasped hers and she could see how very young he was. "Lady Saorlaith, if they make a song about this - make sure that I sound heroic."

Smiling at him, she sponged more of his blood from his side. "Of course you'll sound very heroic. But you'll be around to make doubly sure that they get it right." Taking a quick glance around, she noted that Oisin was not the only guard who was so very, very young. Seeking to distract him, Saorlaith kept him talking. "A rousing story of a young scout and a handful of slaves sealing off doors to buy time for the rest of the castle against an invasion - and risking himself to see those same slaves to safety..."

"Not bad for a youth of forty-seven," Cliareach said firmly. "A boy, a handful of women, and a besieged castle, who knew that those three things could get along so well?"

Osin grinned gamely, laughing before having to stop as he winced in obvious agony. "I'm a man now - not a boy! I'm fully blooded!"

Not showing her shock, or at least she hoped she wasn't showing it, "Forty-seven? How old is that in terms of your kind...?"

Cliareach gave her an even look as his nimble fingers continued their work. "For the first fifty years of a lifespan we grow quickly, but not as quick as a human. He has another growth spurt waiting in the wings I would guess."

Scanning the room once more, comparing the guards and soldiers to Oisin, Saorlaith was disquieted. "And how old are they do you think?"

"They range mostly from fifty to seventy," the physician shrugged.

"You have to be eighty at least to join the main ranks," Oisin explained. "But I'm fast, and I have sharp eyes. His Highness said because of that, I could join the scouts early," he said it with such glowing pride that Saorlaith wanted to be ill.

Beside her, the little goblin toddler seemed to sense her upset, and pressed his face to her hip. Taking a moment to pet him, she gave him a soft smile and gained a toothy one in reply finally. At some point Rhiana and several other old ones had come, just when Saorlaith thought that all would be lost, their glamours and magics stemming the tide, until finally Nuada's presence had been shown. At the moment, the Prince was overseeing the clearing of the castle's halls, and tightening of all entrances to the tunnels below.

Once she was sure Oisin would keep, she moved with Cliareach to the next, and then the next, and then the next. She was exhausted, but still summoned up the strength to continue assisting in her small way, just as the other women did. The constant bustle and movement receded from her attention, focusing on each soldier or guard under her hands, or taking a moment to change the little goblin's soiled diaper or give water to the thirsty.

A cold hand came out at some point, tugging her to stand and Saorlaith swayed, then was steadied. "Saorlaith, come now, it is time for you to return to my rooms. The castle has been secured."

Blinking and clearing the fog from her mind as she was pulled beyond an exit of the vestibule, Saorlaith dug her feet in. "There's wounded to tend."

"They are being tended by others," Nuada turned, stopping as his expression became stern. "You've done more than enough."

"No, no I haven't," she stated evenly. "Those boys need someone to keep them talking, and to clean them up, and to help."

"Those 'boys' are older than you, and trained fighters besides," she watched his lips purse as he spoke, the mottling on his face nearly indistinguishable from blood splatter and sweat.

Saorlaith pushed at her sticky sleeves, "They may be older than me, but they still look like twigs. Like boys! Because that's what they _are_."

"They are fighters, that is what they do." Low gravel, she saw him as though he were trying to be immovable as he spoke, but she didn't want to be moved, unable to see past what had to be done, uncaring for whatever racial differences there were between them. "Boy or not."

"You, you send those boys out to _die_!" snapping at him, remembering the way a young guard she hadn't known the name of giving up the struggle for survival against the mounting pain, had hardened and shattered under her very hands.

A muscle jumped along his jaw, "They are fighters, that is their place in life. If they die, then that too is their lot."

Saorlaith didn't flinch as her horror welled up and then went colder than his touch could ever be. There were broken, marble remains and scattered dust all through the halls. All of them not much more than children, even if they were older than her. They had died fighting to protect their home, and drive away a surprise force, armed with iron and steel weapons, poison that their young bodies held little hope of surviving. And Nuada had let them be fighters, had let them be guards - and by extension he had let them die.

Nearly of its own accord her hand, grimy with soured gold blood turned black from iron poisoning rose, lashed out and landing firmly against his cheek with shuddering force. "You are not a man, but just a construct like your despicable Golden Army." A perfect imprint of a bloody hand - the blood of his own people - remained. With that, she turned on her heel and stiffly walked back to the makeshift clinic to see if she could help any of the broken boys there.

XXX

Saorlaith was feeble with fatigue but found the strength to carry her young burden anyway. She had found someone who wasn't horribly busy - though they all were, but at least the Unseen woman hadn't been _as_busy. It was with great relief that Saorlaith attained Nuada's quarters, a hand slipping into a belt pouch and pulling out the small glow ball Rhiana had given her, and she sighed in silent thanks. The woman she had asked to send some sort of crib for her little charge to sleep in to Nuada's rooms, had done so. Carefully she put the boy to bed, even though he woke a little, but she soothed him, humming softly to him until his bulbous eyes slid closed once more, then tucked the blanket up around him.

With that last duty discharged, Saorlaith couldn't even take the necessary steps to reach a couch, and slumped to the ground. Humans, her own kind, had done horrible things in their attack on the castle, killing indiscriminately, even the poor human women in the kitchen who had been disfigured by rape and rapid torture. Unseen had done terrible things, cutting down her people as they tried to flee flashing silver blades in the night, tearing down the great massive cities, and destroying those barely understood institutions called 'government'. Still, Unseen, goblin, and human, all people, had died that day. In pain, horrible, permanent deaths. She began to press a hand to her mouth until she smelled the cloying stink of blood that had been poorly rinsed away, and nearly gagged.

Muffling her whimper by exercising her will, Saorlaith sank forward until, still kneeling, her forehead touched the intricate rugs that lay strewn over the floor in the sitting area. A shudder rippled through her thin frame, and she shook as her world tilted on its axis. Back and forth, confusion, who was wrong, who was right, didn't really seem to matter anymore. All she wanted was for the blood to stop flowing - human, Unseen, goblin, mythical creature... It was all so needless, and inside she keened, though she dared not make a sound. To her very core, she was sickened, and could find no way to release it, numbness and fatigue and horror and nausea fighting to take over, with none of them winning in particular moment to moment.

She didn't hear the door open, she didn't hear it close either. Nor did she hear the pitcher and small wash basin being set down. Saorlaith didn't really notice anything as she was too focused on trying to hold the shattering pieces of her strength from falling away completely. What she did notice was strong hands propping her up. That those same strong hands were cool, but not when compared to her own that were for some reason like blocks of ice. Startlingly warm water and a soft cloth rubbed over the back of her hand where it rested in a white, white palm, cleaning away the gumminess.

Woodenly her head tilted back as her gaze moved up the length of arm, to the face there. Nuada was looking down, his eyes focused on the task of rubbing away dried grime from her hands. Time to time he would dip the cloth in the basin, wring it out with a deft flick, only to move to some other patch of skin. Eventually cool fingers took her chin in hand, coal-shot red-rimmed saffron paying attention to each smear or splatter.

He made a soft sound, then disappeared, shortly returning with fabric over his shoulder and a silver cup in one hand which he pressed to her, demanding that she drink. Unable to think of a reason to push away the offering, Saorlaith drank deeply, even the taste of thick and sweet wine muted. She felt so cold, but again she followed his silent direction as he pulled her to stand, pushing her dress and robe from her body, but she didn't shiver for very long. Some of the fabric was a heavy gown, she barely recognized it, couldn't think of the word for long moments even as she pushed her head through the neck, and arms through the holes. A cloak was then settled around her, unfamiliar - not hers - but from the scent that rose up from it as it enveloped her body, she knew that it was one of his. Closing her eyes, Saorlaith lifted one side of the heavy material, pressing her face into it and inhaling deeply. Senses filled with the crisp and muggy spiced smell of Unseen man, and its richness was unlike any other elf she had come across, something entirely Nuada to it. His scent overcame the one of spilt blood imprinted on her mind.

Warmth slowly seeped into her, starting from her nose with the swamping perfume of Nuada, then spread. Another cup of wine was pushed into her hands as she was guided to one of the couches, helping her to sit with sure grace. Gradually the fog receded and she was left drained, aware of herself finally. Twisting on the couch, Saorlaith drew her now bare feet under her, and the cloak tightly about her body as true shivering began.

"You should rest," his voice was soft, and she realized he sounded weary. "Once you are warm enough."

The Prince stood, his armour long since discarded, and she saw rents in the fabric of his tunic though it was obvious he had taken the time to clean himself well enough. He knelt so he could scoop up her witch globe, rolling the ball in his palm as she watched, then brought it and the flagon of wine back, to pour her a third cup, nearly to the brim. Carefully, Saorlaith sipped from it, staring at him over the rim. Nuada made a few passes over the glow ball, causing its color and brightness to change several times.

Warmer, but still shivering, the images still burned in her mind with an intensity she didn't understand. "Why employ boys to guard what you deem to be precious? Why not use the men of a decent age?"

Beside her Nuada stretched out an arm over the couch's back, his legs crossing at ankle-to-knee. "There are very few men of any fighting age remaining."

"What do you mean there are few remaining?" Saorlaith scanned over her memories, and found images of rank upon rank of armoured men on horses galloping through forests and over plains. "There are many left, I've seen them."

"Over four _billion_ humans to a few _million_ of the magical beings of the world. Can you conceive of those numbers Saorlaith? You humans breed so fast, and you may live short times, but my kind, my people, and the other beings, are like a small garden against an army of rabbits." Nuada released an exasperated grunt. "Expanding and breeding - all they lived for in the not so distant past was to eat, shit, breed and consume. We, the natural creatures, are nothing in numbers against that. It takes two years for a woman to give birth to one of my kind. Two years. And in that two years, a good deal of my soldiers fall, not to be replaced for nearly a hundred years. In that time how many humans will die, and how many will be replaced?"

She let him take the goblet from her as he took a long draught then refilled it before passing it back.

"If the gods are feeling particularly kind an individual may produce a child every century, but only with great effort and physical cost. Fertility does not come easily to my people." Nuada stood once more, moving quickly to change from his battered clothes to a loose pair of pants, his voice carrying to her. "My more experienced men, and therefor the ones least likely to die, are in the field with me. How then do I guard my castle if all my soldiers who are old enough - two, three hundred years old if I'm lucky to have men of that age to draw upon - what does this leave available? Boys. That is all. The poison in the air from your kind's factories and mines...it makes it even harder for us to have children to replace what is lost."

Shaking her head incredulously at him, for even she could see the problem with his logic, "Then you are risking the very future you're trying to _save_."

Nuada suddenly looked taxed, not just from a hard battle and march, but from much more, the weight of his people bearing down heavily. "You think I don't know that? Do you think that I send boys out into the field? I leave them _here_. It gives them experience, with less chance of dying. I can't leave our few women, and our even fewer children undefended, but I also cannot allow your kind to gather forces and strength!"

"How many other kinds are there then? Trolls, goblins - what else other than your Unseen?" searching for some answer to the problem, any solution to reduce the bloodshed.

A great sigh was heaved, as he paced close to 'her' toddler, his hands clasped behind his back. "Do you think I have full control over them? They have their own customs and rites. I can only command a certain amount of loyalty from a few of the clans. Not many, and due to this day's incursion, that number has been reduced."

Saorlaith was quiet as she thought it over. From what Rhiana had said, she knew that at one point that an Unseen ruler could call to arms any of the magical creatures. It happened rarely, but it had happened. And the Golden Army was created by the goblin mastersmith, so she well knew that goblins were long closely allied with the Unseen.

"What then can you do to get them to join you fully?" taking a longer sip of the potent wine that warmed her, making her bold, and drove her to question when paired with the day's events.

A long boned hand ran through his silver-gold hair, "An _ard ri_ has the right to command and call all of the races in times of duress."

The answer was so obvious she couldn't help the fact that her tone took on a note that questioned his intelligence. "Then become whatever an _ard ri_ is."

Black lips pulled into a tight frown, "I would have to be king first for that to have a chance of occurring."

Saorlaith was on her last nerve, feeling the effects of the strong drink, and gave up. "Then why are you a prince and not a king? Why are you wasting so much time? You may live forever - if someone doesn't fill you with iron shot - but your people will die in droves."

She knew then she had pushed him too far, as he snuffed her glow ball, and the chill of his face came close to hers as he hissed, "There are tactical issues with that, little girl. If you are done pretending you're aware at all of the situation, you should rest before you slide back into the stupor of full shock. Not that I would mind much at this point."

Stiffening as the same upwelling of iron resolve came over her, as it had right before she smacked him, "Well, enlighten me. I don't know everything, and I can't learn or understand if you don't _explain_ it. If there's 'tactical issues' then tell me them! Don't just...just..." waving her hands in the dark, now that she was blind, Saorlaith stood up, swaying as drink and fatigue crashed in her skull making her dizzy. "Just tell me that it's beyond me or that I know nothing when you haven't even _tried_ to help me understand."

Saorlaith knew she wasn't going to get an answer, and didn't particularly care. Plus, she was still tired. Turning in what she thought was a fairly steady fashion, she stumbled, only to be caught and hoisted up.

"Ah, apparently you are not a maudlin drunk," there was an audible smirk in Nuada's voice. "I should have guessed."

"I'm not drunk." Pushing at his shoulder, wanting to be put down, "I don't like you. You won't put me down, and you don't tell me things so I can understand. It's not like I don't want to know, you just... I'm not drunk."

"You have had almost four goblets of Unseen wine," there was a snort beside her head as she was carried to the bed. "And it is a wine potent enough to catch and hold a flame. You are quite in your cups. You can't even stand straight. And you're being belligerent. If you were in your normal state of mind, you would not dare to speak to me this way."

Saorlaith was deposited on the soft, warm bed and she rolled over, away from him, dragging the cloak along so she could wrap up in it and snuggle down. "The world is spinning."

"Because you are drunk," a push moved her more towards the center and his cold body stretched out beside her. "Now sleep, and hopefully your disposition will return to its relatively tolerable form after you have rested."


End file.
